I'm going to take something that happened to my daughter for this answer. Billie Jo (our daughter) was probably around ten years old when it happened. We had a young Black Labrador dog who had become quite smitten with chewing things up that she wasn't supposed to. The list grew longer as the months passed. Looker, our black lab, had chewed up and eaten a $10 bill, my VCR remote control (probably around 1987), and a sticker-filled blackberry vine my wife had planted. How she did that one without serious repercussions is beyond me. She also had a habit of grabbing the mail as it slid through the slot that was in our front door, taking it out back and 'sorting' it for us. So what happened really came as no big surprise. My daughter was a very diligent student, never wanting to let down her teachers by not turning her homework in as soon as she got to school (at least until she hit 14). One morning our daughter was trying to find the math homework that she knew she had completed the night before. My wife assisted in the search and soon found a partially chewed up piece of our daughter's homework page. Our daughter was devastated! How could she possibly walk in to school and publicly announce, “My dog ate my homework!” without becoming the laughing stock of the school? Like this: Mama Bear (my wife) storms into the classroom and vehemently upholds our daughter's “dog ate my homework” bit, showing the teacher the half eaten paper. Funny thing was, the teacher would have never doubted our little girl for one minute. Back then, Billie Jo was the sweetest, cutest, most polite and well mannered child a parent could possibly hope for. And her teachers loved her. So, if you have partial proof, it can be a valid excuse. How often did Billie Jo hand in homework? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - All the time. - Not very often. - Only one time a week.
All the time.

The First of March is my most hated day of the year. Every year, without fail, I feel a little bit depressed on the First of March. I absolutely love summer. I love the hot weather, the skimpy clothes, the summer fruits and the party seasons. I only have good memories of summer - Christmas time, six weeks holidays when in school then three months off whilst at uni. In my eyes, there is not one bad thing about summer. That is why I hate the First of March. Yes, it is still hot. Yes, my summer fruits are still in season and I can still wear my skimpy clothes, but, in my mind, it means that winter is near. The weather is only going to get colder and my favourite time of the year is official over. In an attempt to lift my end of Summer blues I decided to give myself a bright, cheerful manicure. The colour I choose was a luscious purple cream from butter LONDON called Molly-Coddled. It was just about opaque after one coat, just ever so slightly streaky. Two coats, completely opaque and streak free. If you haven't previously heard of butter LONDON, it is a nail polish brand with a massive range of high fashion colours and it's products are formulated without the use of the harmful ingredients like Formaldehyde, Toluene, DBP or Parabens. butter LONDON was the first company to sell 3 Free nail lacquer in the United States. Formaldehyde is one of the biggest nasties that I make a real effort to avoid. I did my PhD in Forensics and spent a lot of time watching autopsies. Once the body parts have been harvested, they are stored in Formaldehyde to be preserved. The Formaldehyde alters the proteins in the tissue to stop them breaking down - fine for the dead, not something I want to use whilst I am alive. It is nasty, nasty stuff. When did the author paint her nails to cheer herself up? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - The beginning of summer. - The end of summer. - The beginning of winter. - not enough information
The end of summer.

My mother's shopping lists were ordered by rules known only to her. As you slid your finger down the columns of groceries and toiletries, you would invariably be stopped by something along the lines of "2dozjumHerbal Essences" or "1pepperoni TC," with the "TC" underlined twice and flanked by gnarled masses of pencil scratch-outs. When we were kids, we dreaded accompanying her to Wal-Mart, or worse, the Cosco at the edge of town, where the echoing rafters and limitless aisles seemed to mock the confusion into which we were inevitably thrown when handed torn-off fragments of the list. Of course, it was easy enough to see in hindsight that "2dozjumHerbal Essences" was merely the bastard child of two drunkenly weaving columns--we had been supposed to get two dozen jumbo eggs and a bottle of my mother's favourite brand of shampoo (ever inventive in creating proprietary abbreviations--"TC" standing for, what else, thin crust pizza--my mother scrupulously wrote out brand names in full). It was a little like ordering chemicals for a laboratory, sans any knowledge of chemistry--or, for that matter, laboratories, although my ignorance of the distinction between baking soda and baking powder cannot be entirely the root of my confusion. Eventually I--and my siblings--learned the difference between tomato paste and tomato sauce, and could readily distinguish one brand of laundry detergent from a similarly-styled knock-off, but my shame-faced trips back to the mothercart never ceased. I would track her down, most often in the produce section--she was usually loath to trust us with the delicate task of selecting the very best fruits and vegetables--and hand her back my portion of the list, asking for an explanation. Usually it amounted to a failure of awareness on my part--get the kind of soap we always get, of course! Where did the author dread going with his/her mother? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - The supermarket. - The edge of town - not enough information - Costco

The supermarket.